Investing In My Lv.999 Devoted Wife Makes Me a Tyrant

13 | Back to Wife

Gray light spat him out into the morning.

Allen stumbled through the portal and onto the muddy ground of the clearing. The gate flickered behind him, its edges folding inward like a collapsing wound. Within seconds, the portal shrank to a point and vanished. The dungeon was closed.

He stood there, swaying. The sunlight was too bright. The air was too warm. The world smelled like mud and smoke instead of blood and stone.

A crowd had gathered at the edge of the clearing. The same desperate men and women from before, clutching rusted weapons. A few hunters who'd arrived too late, still buckling their gear. They stared at him, at the blood drying on his torn jacket, at the knife in his hand.

"The gate—" a man started.

"Is it closed?" another voice called. "Did you clear it? What happened to the others?"

Allen didn't look at them. He started walking.

A young hunter stepped into his path. E-rank by the look of him. "Hey. I'm talking to you. What happened in there? Where's the E-ranker?"

Allen kept walking. The hunter grabbed his arm.

Allen's free hand snapped out, caught the man's wrist, and twisted. The hunter yelped and stumbled back. Allen didn't slow.

"Fuck off."

Flat. Exhausted. He didn't owe them anything. He had someone waiting for him.

The crowd parted. Nobody followed.

On the way home, Allen stopped at the market.

The soup vendor was the same old man from before, hunched over his bubbling pot. The smell of chicken bones and root vegetables hit Allen harder than he expected. His stomach twisted. When had he last eaten?

"Two bowls," Allen said.

The old man squinted at him, then at the blood on his clothes. He said nothing. Just ladled two clay bowls and wrapped them in rags. "6 Copper."

Allen paid and walked on.

The bread at home was still there, hard at the edges but edible. With fresh soup, it would be enough.

The shack came into view. The door was still wedged shut. He pushed it open.

Seraphina was exactly where he'd left her.

She lay on the bare bed frame, the thin blanket at her waist. Silver hair spilled across the wood. Violet eyes found him the moment he crossed the threshold. Worry. Then relief.

Allen set the soup on the table and moved to the basin.

He splashed water on his face. The cold was a shock, then a relief. He scrubbed the dried blood from his cheeks, his jaw, the back of his neck. He pulled off his ruined jacket, then his shirt. The cloth came away stiff with sweat and blood. He dipped a clean rag into the basin and wiped down his chest, his arms, his sides. The water in the basin turned pink, then darker.

Minor Regeneration had closed the wounds, but the skin was still tender. Bruises were already blooming across his ribs, purple and black.

He dried himself, pulled on a spare shirt from the corner, and sat beside her.

"I'm okay," he said. His voice came out rough. "Monster blood. Not mine."

Her finger twitched. Once.

'Good.'

He took one of the soup bowls. The steam curled upward. He broke off a piece of bread, dipped it into the broth, let it soften. Lifted it to her lips.

"Open," he said softly.

Her jaw moved. Just barely. Just enough.

He slipped the bread inside. She chewed slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. He watched her throat move as she swallowed. Then he repeated the motion.

Dip. Lift. Wait. She chewed. Swallowed.

Five times. Six. Seven.

Her eyes never wandered. The silence between them wasn't empty. It was full of things that didn't need to be said.

But Allen wanted to say them anyway.

"There were goblins," he said, dipping another piece of bread. "More than I expected. And these things called Stonehide Larva, ugly . They rolled like balls and had teeth on their undersides."

He lifted the bread to her lips. She opened, chewed, swallowed.

"Then the boss. A Goblin Shaman." He dipped again. "It threw fire. Almost got me a few times." He smiled, tired. "But I'm still here."

Another piece. Another swallow.

"I took its core. It's in my pocket." He watched her eyes. "I almost died, Seraphina. But I kept thinking about you. About getting back here."

Her finger twitched against the blanket.

'Yes. Yes.'

Allen's throat tightened. He fed her the last piece of bread, then set the bowl aside.

"You waited," he said. "Didn't you?"

One blink.

'Yes.'

"I'm back. I'm not going anywhere."

When the first bowl was empty, he set it aside. He took the damp cloth and began to clean her.

First her face. Gentle strokes across her forehead, her closed eyelids, the bridge of her nose, the soft line of her jaw. He wiped the faint dust from the morning and the sheen of sweat from the closed room. Her skin was warm under his fingers.

Then her hands. He lifted one, turned it palm up. The fingers had curled inward again, and he straightened them slowly, one by one. He ran the cloth over her palm, between her fingers, across the back of her hand. Then the other.

He pulled the blanket down only as far as he needed. He wiped her arms, her shoulders, the hollow of her throat. He worked the cloth down her sides, over the curve of her stomach, careful and thorough. Then her legs, one at a time, from thigh to ankle. Her feet last, each toe cleaned with the same care.

When he finished, he pulled the blanket back up to her shoulders, tucking it snug.

Then he touched her hair.

Silver. Soft. He ran his fingers through it slowly, from the crown of her head down to the ends, again and again. A tangle caught against his knuckles; he worked it free with patient fingers. Her eyes fluttered closed. For a long moment, he just stroked her hair, the way he'd wanted to since the gate.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Once. A promise.

Twice. A prayer.

A third time. A soft, lingering kiss that said everything he didn't have words for.

He pulled back only enough to look at her face. "Do you like it?"

Her finger moved against the blanket. Once. Twice. Three times.

'Yes. Yes. Yes.'

Allen's throat tightened. He bent his head and rested his forehead against hers for a moment. Just breathing.

[Ding!]

The blue panel flickered into view.

[Violet: Physical and emotional investment detected. Feeding, cleaning, and comforting wife with tenderness. Return: 1,500x. Skill unlocked: Shadow Step (Rare, Active). 1,500 Copper. Dominion Points accumulated.]

A cold sensation washed through his legs, starting at his feet and spreading upward like ice water through his veins. It settled into his muscles, into his bones. New knowledge bloomed behind his eyes. Shadow Step. A skill. A Rare one.

[Violet: Shadow Step: short-range teleportation through shadows. Range: 5 meters. Cooldown: 10 seconds.]

Allen straightened. A smile touched the corner of his mouth. Teleportation. He could be behind an enemy in a heartbeat. He could cross a room in the dark. He could escape.

He looked at Seraphina. Her eyes were on him. Her finger twitched. Once.

'Good.'

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."

He took her hand and held it. Warm, soft.

The shack was still small. The slum was still outside. But right now, with her hand in his and a new skill burning behind his ribs, Allen felt something he'd almost forgotten.

Hope. And...